


Strange What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Joe West Disapproves, Leonard Snart Owns a Bar, M/M, Metahuman of the Week, Minor Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, Minor Sara Lance/Nyssa al Ghul, Near Death Experiences, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barry loses a fight against a dangerous metahuman, he goes to Leonard Snart, newly returned from his mission through time, for help. With both men fighting on the same side, the feelings growing between them become harder and harder to ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously, I wrote a significant portion of this before The Flash's whole time travel retcon of Hartley's character (which I'm so excited about my small gay son is finally happy). But anyway, I hope you enjoy and let me know as much with all your lovely kudos and comments.  
> Title taken from the Chris Isaak song [Wicked Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WtfHk2hSlqA), which would make excellent mood music for this fic if you are so inclined, especially during the slow dancing scene.  
> Also, small side note, but is Caitlin Snow a medical doctor? Because I didn't think so, but then during "Trajectory" she said she was a physician, so I don't know. Long story short, I used her like one in this fic. Probably not a huge problem, given that's what the writers do on the show all the time anyway.

Excruciating jolts of electricity course through Barry’s body like a tsunami, bowing his spine and setting his teeth on edge. His limbs twitch erratically as the current pummels into him, an unyielding assault. The frantic voices of Caitlin and Cisco calling to him over the comms sound hollow in Barry’s ears, like they’re underwater. He can’t catch his breath, can feel his heart beating fitfully. He’s going to die. He knows it. His fingers dig painfully into the pavement, phalanges snapping almost as loudly as the arcs of lightning shooting from the metahuman’s hands. 

Barry tries desperately to pry open his jaw, to say something, anything, to his friends back at S.T.A.R. Labs. That he loves them. That none of this is their fault. That they need to make sure Joe and Iris know that they saved his life. That he is so thankful. So fortunate. 

But he can’t. 

As Barry’s vision starts to white out, he feels a sudden vibration ripple through the air. Abruptly, the lightning stops. Barry’s body continues to twitch through the aftershocks, but he’s finally able to heave in a ragged, life-saving breath. 

“This isn’t over,” Barry hears the metahuman screech, shrill and furious. The sound of her feet pounding against the pavement becomes less and less pronounced as she puts distance between herself and the Scarlet Speedster.  

The night is quiet for a long moment as Barry’s spasm finally calm, pain fading. He can’t logic together what drove the metahuman away, why he’s still alive, until a voice cuts through the silence. 

“Are you dead?” 

Barry groans pitifully in response. He cracks an eye open, looking up at his unlikely saviour. Round glasses catch the street lights from under a dark hood, and Barry hears the other man chuckle. 

“Good,” he says, feet shuffling in place. “Captain’s got very specific orders when it comes to your safety.” 

Barry’s brow furrows in confusion. His brain feels like mush in his skull, and he can’t make sense of anything the man in the hood is saying. 

“And while I, personally, can’t fathom your death being any great loss,” Barry’s rescuer continues nonchalantly. “I know a smart alliance when I see one.” 

Barry watches as booted feet turn and begin walking away. 

“See you around, Flash,” the man calls over his shoulder. 

Barry tries to rise to his feet, but his muscles still feel like jelly from the electrical overload he’s been subjected to. He flops onto his back and pants heavily, staring up at the stars shining dimly through the lights of the city. 

“Barry,” Caitlin shrieks over the comms, voice frantic with worry. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” 

The Scarlet Speedster takes another deep, ragged breath before replying, voice saturated with confusion and disbelief.

“Pied Piper just saved my life.” 

 

* * *

 

The next morning at the station, things only get stranger. As Barry approaches Joe’s desk carrying his morning coffee, fingers still lightly bruised from nearly healed breaks, he passes by a man in a rumpled business suit, face swollen, and deep purple-blue, being carted off by an officer, hands cuffed behind his back. 

“Isn’t anyone gonna take my statement?” the man hollers, squirming agitatedly in the officer’s grip. “Those bitches nearly beat my face in! That’s assault!” 

The officer manhandling him chuckles. “That’s what you get for trying to stick your penis in a fourteen year old girl,” she replies, devoid of any sympathy. “You’re lucky they didn’t cut it off.” 

“Not my fault the little whore was out selling it,” the man spits. The officer shoves him roughly forward in retribution. He yips in surprise and spits out a curse. “Hey! I’ve got rights, you know!” 

“Keep moving,” the officer grumbles, head shaking. 

It’s at that moment that Joe appears at Barry’s side. The speedster passes his foster father the coffee in his left hand, and Joe nods his thanks. 

“What’s that guy’s problem?” Barry asks, gesturing toward the obstinate man and the officer trying to haul him into the interrogation room. 

“Couple of uniforms picked him up last night,” Joe explains. “He was apparently trying to solicit from one of the minors working 8th Street when he was interrupted by a pair of female vigilantes calling themselves White Canary and The Demon’s Head.” 

Barry grimaces, and Joe raises an eyebrow. “You know them?” the detective asks. 

“One of Rip Hunter’s Legends,” Barry replies. The team of time travelers were returned safely to 2016 nearly three weeks ago, mission to defeat Vandal Savage a resounding success. Still, Sara wasn’t the Legend Barry’s been dreading to see pop up on the CCPD radar. “And the other’s former League of Assassins, I think.”   

“Great,” Joe scoffs, shaking his head and walking off toward his desk. “As if things weren’t already getting stranger around here.” 

Barry’s brow furrows, interest piqued, and he follows the other man to his desk. 

“How’s that, now?” Barry asks. 

Joe sighs. He picks up a manilla folder from his desk and begins leafing through it, clearly on edge. “I’ve got reports coming in that this morning, Mark Mardon used his freaky weather powers during a high speed police chase to  _ stop  _ a squad car from rolling when the driver lost control. He probably saved the lives of the two officers in the car, plus the handful of unlucky pedestrians on the sidewalk. Minimizing casualties has never been Mardon’s  _ m.o. _

“Plus,” Joe adds, returning the file to his desk and crossing the bullpen to retrieve a fax coming through the machine. Barry follows dutifully behind him. “Just last week, we got multiple eyewitness reports claiming they saw Shawna Baez rescue a little girl’s kitten stuck up a tree.” 

Joe shakes his head and takes a long sip of his coffee, carefully examining the fax in his other hand. “What the hell is going on with the criminals in this city lately?” he asks himself absently, head still shaking. 

Barry thinks he might have some idea. 

 

* * *

 

The bar is nice, especially given its location in town. The front door opens to a large, if dim, room when Barry pushes through, bell jingling overhead. Tables are arranged to strategically maximize space across the foremost two thirds of the floor, chairs stacked upside down for easy cleaning. The back third is left open for dancing, large speakers mounted close to the ceiling to avoid any wandering hands or stumbling bodies. 

Against the far right wall, beside two doors marked as restrooms, stands the bar, and behind that stands the establishment's proprietor, wiping down a highball glass from a larger stack with a white tea towel. 

“The sign out front says we’re closed,” the man drawls, not bothering to look up from his glass. 

Barry shifts awkwardly on his feet and clears his throat. “I thought you might make an exception for an old friend,” he says hopefully. 

The other man finally looks up as he hears Barry speak. It’s carefully masked, but Barry can see the faint traces of surprise in his expression. He puts the highball in its rightful place under the bar, small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Is that what we are, Barry?” Leonard Snart asks, eyebrow raised teasingly. Barry shuffles again, uncomfortable, and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, shrugging. Snart chuckles good-naturedly and picks up another glass from the stack. 

He begins drying it off. “Sit down, Kid.” 

Snart nods to one of the barstools in front of him, so Barry hesitantly makes his way forward and slides into a seat, elbows resting awkwardly in his lap. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Snart asks, putting away the freshly dried glass and moving onto the next. 

Barry frowns. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning,” he replies. 

Snart shrugs. “Something to eat, then,” he says. 

Before Barry can answer, Snart throws the tea towel over his shoulder and disappears through a door behind the bar. It swings back and forth on its hinges several times, and Barry has to wait a full two minutes for the other man to return. He briefly considers that Snart’s fled, but is quick to dismiss the idea. He has no reason to, and Snart’s never been one to do anything without good reason.  

When Snart reemerges from the back room, he grabs the tea towel from his shoulder and resumes drying off the stack of glasses. “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods, Barry?” he asks, not so much as glancing up from his task. 

“Hartley Rathaway went against a metahuman and saved Flash’s life last night,” Barry replies, knee bouncing nervously against the footrest of his stool. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

Snart huffs a laugh. “I might have put word out to keep an eye on Central City’s darling hero,” the other man admits. “After all, Flash did speak on my behalf when I got back from my little jaunt through time. Had me cleared of my father’s murder, and my subsequent involuntary prison break. I’m a free man again. I owed the guy.” 

Snart puts his glass down and leans against the bar, into Barry’s space. “And I don’t like owing people,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

He pushes back from the bar and disappears into the back room once more. He returns much sooner this time, carrying a steaming plate of french fries in one hand a tall metal glass in the other. Snart places the plate down in front of Barry and smirks. 

“Eat up, Kid,” the older man instructs. 

“This place has a kitchen?” Barry asks, picking at one of the fries cautiously. The hot oil burns his fingertips and he drops it quickly, pulling his hand back to blow on the overheated skin. 

“This place has a deep fryer,” Snart corrects. He pulls a hurricane glass from under the bar, tall and curved with a stubbly stem, and fills it to the brim with thick, velvety chocolate from the metal cup. He shoves in a straw and slides it across the bartop to Barry, condensation already beading on the glass. 

“And a milkshake machine,” Snart adds. “At the rather firm request of Sara’s lady love.” 

“Yeah,” Barry replies with a chuckle. “I heard they were in town.” 

He leans forward on his stool and reaches a hand out, trying his luck against the greasy, crinkle cut potatoes again. They’ve cooled enough to handle, so Barry shoves a few gracelessly into his mouth. Snart laughs derisively at his lack of poise and picks a fry off Barry’s plate, dunking it in his milkshake before popping it into his mouth. 

Barry whines shrilly in protest. “Snart, you can’t steal food from your customers,” he says, scandalized. 

“I’m a thief, Barry,” Snart replies, smile wicked. “When I see something I want, I take it. It’s what I do best.” 

He uses his tea towel wipe a few errant water droplets from the bar. “And call me Len,” he adds. His voice is flat and serious, eyes downcast to feign nonchalance, but Barry sees right through him.  

“Yeah, okay,” Barry says, eyes softening. “Len.” 

Len looks up at him with a timid yet satisfied smile. He steals another of Barry’s fries, but this time, the speedster doesn’t complain.  

“So,” Barry begins after a moment of silence. “Any plans now that you’re back in Central?” 

“You checking up on me?” Len teases. His eyes are guarded though, posture stiff, like he’s genuinely concerned. 

Barry shrugs. “Should I be?” he asks. 

Len sighs and goes back to drying his glasses. “Turns out I didn’t mind the hero gig so much, even if it was all a bit altruistic for my taste,” he says. Barry perks up in his seat at the admission, but the other man stops him cold with a look. 

“But that’s not my life,” Len continues. A pained expression crosses his face, and Barry’s brow crinkles in concern. “I can’t walk away from everything I’ve ever known because I fancy myself a changed man. I did it once before and I won’t do it again.” 

The older man’s eyes flick down to stare blankly at the faded rings on the surface of the bartop. “I don’t give a damn about very many people, Barry,” he whispers, voice rough. “Need even fewer. But I need Mick.” 

Barry licks nervously at his lips. He feels for Len, he really does. He tries to imagine a set of circumstances, any circumstances, that would make him turn his back on Cisco, or Caitlin. On his father, or Joe, or Iris. He can’t. 

But he still wants the world for Len. 

“There has to be some other way,” Barry says pitifully. His stomach rolls, uncomfortable lump stuck in his throat. “You can’t go back to being a criminal, Len.” 

Suddenly, Len’s perked up. He grabs another fry from Barry’s plate with a devilish smirk. “But you see, Barry,” he says, index fingers held aloft, fry still in hand. “Technically, you’re a criminal, too.” 

Barry opens his mouth to protest, but Len doesn’t give him the chance. “Last I checked, a civilian taking the law into their own hands was still illegal.” 

It’s a fair point, Barry must admit, if only to himself. 

“And if everyone’s favourite Scarlet Speedster can break the law for the good of the city,” Len continues. “I don’t see why Captain Cold can’t do the same.” 

Barry frowns. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not gonna like whatever you’re about to suggest?”  

“Because you’re a goody two-shoes,” Len replies dryly. Then, he lets out an overdramatic sigh. “Which is fine,” he adds. “We all have our flaws.” 

Barry glares at the older man as he sucks his milkshake up through his straw.

“As I’m sure you know,” Len continues, ignoring Barry’s judgmental stare. “The criminal underworld has something of a hierarchy. Bigger fish, if you will.” 

Barry’s brow furrows. “I meant to ask you about that,” he says. “It isn’t just Pied Piper who’s found his inner hero lately. Peek-a-Boo and Weather Wizard are acting strange, too.” 

“It’s part of our arrangement,” Len replies, nodding in agreement. 

“You have an arrangement?” Barry asks warily. 

Len looks up and meets Barry’s eyes. “Consider it an offshoot of the arrangement Flash and I have,” he says. “They’re free to operate in my city so long as they follow my rules. No attacks on the police, no attacks on The Flash, and no killing.” 

“Or else?” Barry prompts. 

“Or else they see first hand what it’s like when Captain Cold dons his white hat,” Len replies. 

Barry stares down at the few remaining fries on his plate as he considers the other man’s proposal. It’s not the complete turnaround Barry had hoped for, but maybe, in a lot of ways, it’s the most authentic one.  

“Plus,” Len adds, upping the ante on his pitch. “All the players in my little Rogues Gallery are expected to do their share to keep the city safe.” 

Barry huffs a laugh. “Isn’t that a little counterintuitive?” 

“Not at all,” Len says. “Like it or not, Barry, the world needs criminals. Crime keeps a city in working order. Gives people like you and Detective West a job, a purpose. Order leads to apathy. 

“Same goes for chaos,” the older man continues. “Too much and things start falling apart. Laws are what make things worth stealing, make things a challenge. Chaos leads to apathy, too. The only solution is balance. 

“So,” Len finishes. “If some big bad metahuman is out there tipping the scales too far in one direction, it only makes sense for the Rogues to step in. Not for the greater good, but for the sake of maintaining our way of life.” 

Barry frowns. “That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” he says. 

“Of course it does, Barry,” Len replies with a condescending smirk. 

Brusquely, Barry stuffs his remaining few french fries in his mouth and slides off his stool. Len gives him a curious look, and the speedster chuckles. “I have to get back to work,” he says, adjusting the collar of his jacket and shuffling backward towards the door. 

“It’s hardly heroic to dine and dash,” Len chastises, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Think of it as me balancing the scales,” Barry calls back. He catches the slightest hint of a smile tugging at Len’s lips before he’s out the door, shoes smoking on the sidewalk as he races back to the precinct. 

 

* * *

 

Barry slides his fingers into the gloves of his Flash suit, flexing them experimentally, happy to find all the discomfort from the previous night’s breaks gone. He’s at S.T.A.R. Labs, preparing himself for the night’s patrol. Cisco passes behind him, tablet held in one hand, sucker stuck in his mouth with the other. 

“So,” Barry says conversationally, trying to feign nonchalance. All day, his thoughts have been stuck on his conversation with Len that morning, but he’s yet to bring it up. “I stopped by Snart’s bar this morning.” 

“Why?” Caitlin asks, brow furrowed. She’s sitting behind the monitors on an office chair, checking surveillance feeds and social media posts for metahuman activity. 

“I was curious about what happened last night with Hartley Rathaway,” Barry explains, shrugging. “I thought he might know something about it, and as it turns out, he did.” 

“Yeah,” Cisco says absently, pulling the bright blue sucker from his mouth. “He’s got that whole Criminals-With-a-Code thing going on.” 

Barry looks over at the engineer in surprise, frowning. “Wait,” he says. “You knew about this?” 

Cisco turns hesitantly on his heels to face the speedster, caught out. “Lisa may have mentioned it,” he replies, expression guilty. 

“Lisa Snart?” Caitlin chirps, taken aback. “Cisco, she’s a criminal! Exactly how much time have you been spending with her?” 

Cisco raises his hands in a sheepish shrug. “Like, the regular amount?” he says, stretching the words out until it sounds more like a question than a statement. 

Caitlin sighs and shakes her head, turning her attention back to the monitors. 

Cisco turns to Barry with supplicating eyes. “Dude,” he says. “She’s kinda perfect.” 

Barry laughs. “It’s fine, Cisco,” the speedster says. “You don’t have to justify your dating life to me.” 

“Oh,” Cisco says, eyebrows knitting together. “Well, we’re not technically dating. Not yet. But I was thinking about maybe asking her to go see that new Christian Bale movie with me, and then maybe after we could--” 

“Could we please get back to fighting the criminals instead of trying to figure out how to woo them,” Caitlin interrupts, unimpressed. “That electrical metahuman from last night is still at large.” 

“Amperage,” Cisco suggests. When Barry and Caitlin raise questioning eyebrows at his choice of name, the engineer shrugs. “I think it’s mad catchy, yo.” 

“It’s highly unlikely that  _ Amperage _ ,” Caitlin resumes with a sigh, giving Cisco a pointed look as she adopts the moniker. “Won’t strike again. There’s no reason for her to lay low, given that she knows the Flash can’t stop her.” 

“I  _ can  _ stop her,” Barry argues. “I just wasn’t ready last night.” 

Suddenly, an alarm goes off in the cortex as large warning messages pop up on the monitors. Cisco dashes over to check them, game face on, and Caitlin slides over in her chair to launch into action, too.  

“Well,” Cisco declares,  glancing over at Barry. “You’d better be ready now. Amperage is downtown terrorizing Main Street.”  

“I’m on it,” Barry says with a solemn nod. Wind picks up around him, ruffling Cisco and Caitlin’s hair, as he flashes away. 

Barry skids to a stop on Main Street, about 20 yards away from where the metahuman stands, arcs of white lightning shooting from her fingertips. The hum of electricity around her body is audible, the static lifting her jet black hair from her shoulders to fan out around her head like a demented halo. 

Amperage shoots a beam of electricity from her right hand, directed ruthlessly at a fleeing couple. The world slows to a crawl as Barry taps into his superspeed, scooping the couple up and moving them to safety with microseconds to spare. 

“Hey,” Barry shouts, catching the metahuman’s attention before she can fire off another shot. She turns to face the Scarlet Speedster, eyes glowing eerie white with power. 

Barry swallows nervously. 

“This ends now,” he calls, feet shifting, ready to run. 

Amperage throws her head back and cackles. “This is only just beginning, Flash,” she hollers back. 

“What do you want?” Barry asks her, still searching for an angle to use, a way to de-escalate things. “Maybe I can help you.” 

“What I want,” Amperage replies. “Is to rain chaos down on this city. Say goodbye to your safe, quiet streets, Flash. There’s a new all-powerful metahuman in town, and she’s bringing the thunder with her lightning.”  

To follow up the grandiose statement, Amperage fires arcs of electricity from each hand, aimed right at Barry’s head. The speedster scrambles out of the line of fire as fast as his feet will carry him. Unrelenting, Amperage fires again, and again. It’s all Barry can do to keep himself from being hit. 

“Let’s see how well you fare when you’re the one on the receiving end,” Barry mutters. He moves even faster, lightning gathering around him. Spinning out his arms, he redirects it toward the sparking metahuman and catches her square in the chest. 

Barry slides to a halt. His eyes widen as he takes in the inefficacy of his assault. Amperage has done little more than stumble back, the energy field expanding around her, glowing white and crackling with power. 

Suddenly, her arms surge forward and the lightning comes racing right back, hitting Barry in the gut and sending him flying through the air. The speedster’s whole body spasms and he hits the ground hard. Amperage continues firing, flooding Barry’s body with an unbearable electric current. Barry screams in pain through clenched teeth, tendons bulging visibly in his neck, even through the thick tripolymer of his suit.  

The song of police sirens echoes through the night, approaching fast. Barry feels dread settle in the pit of his stomach, cold and nauseating, as he sees the squad cars turn onto Main Street. Amperage pivots on her heels and removes one hands from her assault on Barry. She fires a bolt of lightning at the hood of the foremost vehicle. Immediately, it explodes, rocketing backward through the air to crash into the cars on its tail. 

Barry watches, helpless from the ground, as the officers flee their vehicles. Amperage laughs maniacally from above him. 

“Until next time, Flash,” the villain cackles. The searing pain ripping through Barry’s body subsides as she lets him go, making a quick escape before the CCPD can begin firing their weapons. 

Tears cloud Barry’s vision as he tries to get his feet under himself, tires to race to the rescue of the officers still stuck in the overturned car, smoke from its fire leaving an acrid smell in the air. 

“I can’t stop her,” the speedster says miserably, voice rough and wavering. “Not on my own.” 

 

* * *

 

Thin blades slice through the air, meeting strike for strike, the sound of metal grinding against metal filling the room. Sara and Nyssa move like dancers in an elegant ballet, postures measured, steps deliberate, spinning and twirling to the rhythm of their heartbeats. They fight with all the ease of breathing, natural and organic. 

“Alright, children. No playing with sharp objects in the house.” 

Len’s chastisement stops both women dead in their tracks. They turn to see the older man emerging from behind the bar, arms crossed disapprovingly over his chest. Sara laughs at him, bubbly and carefree, but moves to lay her sword down on one of the nearby tables. 

The former assassins misappropriated the vacant space at the back of Len’s bar for training purposes upon joining the man in Central. He’s mostly a good sport about it. 

Mostly. 

“Relax,” Sara says, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “We weren’t gonna break anything.” 

Len raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he replies. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve got a table sliced clean in half in the dumpster out back that says otherwise.” 

Lisa laughs outright at her brother’s misfortune, head thrown back unabashedly. She and Mick are seated at a nearby table, come to watch the women’s skillful display. 

“That was an accident,” Sara defends, though she’s still smiling, unrepentant. “I was trying to teach Lisa--” 

“I don’t care,” Len interrupts. The glare he sends the blonde’s way is frigid and absolutely useless against her.  

“It’s my turn anyway,” Mick says, rising from his chair, shoulders rolling. He looks over at Nyssa and smirks. “You up to it, Assassin’s Creed?”

Sara laughs at the ridiculous nickname, but Nyssa remains stoic as ever. “Whyever not?” the brunette replies calmly. She passes her sword over to Sara and assumes a fighting stance, feet planted wide, hands raised. 

Mick takes the first swing forward, which Nyssa easily dodges. That initial offence sets the tone for the rest of their sparring, Mick going in hot and Nyssa ducking every blow. The arsonist’s anger quickly gets the better of him and he charges forward. Nyssa uses his weight and momentum against him, flipping him over her shoulders, driving him into the floor. Mick lands with a sickening  _ smack  _ and a pained groan. 

“If you’d kindly refrain from bleeding on my floors,” Len drawls impassively. 

Nyssa offers Mick a hand and helps pull him to his feet. The man rubs at his jaw, red from impact. 

“You’re even better than Blondie,” Mick says, nodding in Sara’s direction.

“Yes,” Nyssa agrees, neither humble nor arrogant, but simply stating facts. “I’ve trained decades longer. Though I’d imagine that my beloved, too, could easily overtake you in combat.” 

Mick shrugs dismissively.

Nyssa doesn’t take the hint. “The most valuable lesson my father ever taught me,” she says. “Is that a warrior’s greatest asset is not their strength, but rather their discipline. You are an exceptionally capable fighter, Mr. Rory, but you will never reach your full potential so long as you are a slave to your impulses. The flame gets the better of you. You have no control.”  

“Nyss,” Sara says softly, trying to dissuade her girlfriend from her harsh criticism, but Nyssa ignores her. 

“During my training with the League,” the assassin continues, unperturbed. “I was taught many techniques to help one quiet the mind. Should you be so inclined, I would share them with you. I believe they would be of great use.” 

Silence descends upon the room at Nyssa’s proposal. Len, Sara, and Lisa look back and forth between the assassin and the arsonist, but neither break from their shared stare. 

Finally, Mick clears his throat. “Uh, sure,” he rumbles, nod curt, awkward. “Can’t promise it’s gonna do any good.” 

“Perhaps not,” Nyssa agrees. “But there is honour in battle nonetheless.” 

At that moment, the bell above the door chimes. The group turns in unison to see Barry shuffle inside, door swinging closed behind him. He raises an awkward hand in greeting and Sara breaks out into a radiant smile and rushes over to the speedster’s side. 

“Barry,” the blonde greets. Barry meets her halfway and wraps her up in a warm hug. 

“It’s good to see you again, Sara,” he replies. The Flash had joined the Legends crew on a brief mission a few months back, and Barry had grown extremely fond of the White Canary during their short time together.  

“Aren’t you one of Cisco’s friends?” Lisa asks, brows furrowed in confusion, as Barry and Sara pull out of their embrace. 

Barry’s eyes widen. “Seriously?” he says. “None of you’ve told her?” 

“Told me what?” Lisa asks, annoyance clouding her tone.  

“We had a deal,” Len replies simply, shrugging. 

Barry sighs and moves to stand in front of the confused brunette, offering her his hand. “I’m Barry Allen,” he says. Then, once Lisa’s taken his hand, he vibrates it at superspeed. 

Lisa gasps in surprise. “You’re The Flash,” she says, eyes wide with disbelief. “Shit, I really should have put that together on my own.” 

“I can’t believe everyone managed to keep it a secret from you,” Barry replies. “I mean, Cisco  _ has  _ accidentally let my identity slip before.”  

Mick huffs a laugh. “Lady Hawk told us about that.” 

“Yeah, well,” Barry says with a shrug. “I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to keeping my secret identity secret.” 

Then, Barry looks over Nyssa and offer her his hand. “You must be Nyssa al Ghul,” he says as they shake. 

“Indeed,” Nyssa replies with a curt nod. 

“You know,” Barry says, chuckling lightly. “I broke into your super secret hidey-hole in the Hindu Kush once.”

Nyssa’s expression remains impassive and Barry pales. “Which I-I am so sorry about,” he quickly stammers. 

Sara’s bright laughter fills the room. “Don’t scare the poor thing, Nyssa,” the blonde chastises. Nyssa simply shrugs. 

“So,” Barry says in a painfully awkward attempt to change the subject. “I heard the two of you have been hitting the vigilante scene in Central. You planning on staying long?” 

Sara shrugs. “There’s still something that feels strange about being in Star City,” she replies. “There are all these reminders of my old life, before the League. Before the Pit. I can’t figure out who I am, now, when everything around me is a reminder of who I used to be. 

“My mom lives in Central,” Sara continues. “So I’m not totally alone. Plus, Len and Mick are friends. I figured maybe this could be the right place for me.” 

“And with the League of Assassins dissolved,” Nyssa adds. “I no longer had a home in Nanda Parbat. But Sara, she has always been home for me.”

The two women share a long, loving look, and Sara smiles contentedly. 

“When I first became a vigilante,” Sara says, after the moment’s passed. “I had a philosophy. No woman should ever have to suffer at the hands of men. The Flash, he serves a purpose, helping the CCPD fight threats they aren’t equipped to deal with on their own. But he’s not the only hero this city needs. There are women out there who have nothing. The very people sworn to protect them are the same people who’ll turn around and victimize them. Because they’re poor, or on the wrong side of the law, or just the wrong side of someone’s bigotry. 

“The Flash is a symbol of hope to so many people in this city, Barry,” the blonde continues, emphatic. “But there are still people out there who have none. And that has to end. Everyone deserves hope. Everyone deserves heroes.” 

Solemnly, Barry nods. “I understand,” he says. “It’s a noble pursuit. Although, that guy you roughed up the other night.” 

Barry trails off, assuming the second half of his reprimand can be left unsaid. 

“You’re quite right,” Nyssa replies. “Death would have been a far more suitable punishment for such a heinous offence.” 

Barry sputters wildly, eyes wide as saucers, and Sara erupts in a fit of laughter. 

“I don’t think that’s what the puppy dog meant, Babe,” the blonde corrects, her tone still light and not at all reproachful. 

“I’m assuming you’re here for a reason, Barry,” Len prompts as the younger man struggles to stop gaping like a fish. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” Barry replies, meeting Len’s eyes earnestly. Len tilts his head, gesturing toward the bar where the pair would have more privacy. Barry follows him across the floor as behind them, Sara pulls Lisa forward to offer her fighting tips. 

“I heard about what happened last night,” Len says quietly when the pair have settled by the bar. “Are you okay?” 

Barry’s chest warms at Len’s concern, but quickly seizes up with guilt. “Two officers are in the hospital with some pretty serious burns,” he replies. “I couldn’t get to them in time.” 

“It’s not your fault, Barry,” Len says quickly. “You did what you could.” 

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t enough,” Barry spits, head shaking. “I can’t take her on my own, Len. I need help.” 

When the older man doesn’t reply right away, Barry presses on. “She’s breaking your code. No casualties, no cops, no chaos. All she wants is chaos. She’ll tear the city apart, Len. Please. This isn’t just me trying to make a hero out of you, I promise. I really need you.” 

Len opens his mouth to reply, but the sudden ringing of Barry’s phone cuts him off. Barry winces apologetically and pulls his cell from his pocket, looking down at the display. 

“It’s Joe,” the speedster says before taking the call, phone pressing to his ear. “Hello.” 

The conversation is short and deliberate as Joe rattles off the location of a crime scene where Barry’s needed. 

“My day job calls,” Barry tells Len upon hanging up. He slides the phone back into his pocket and fidgets nervously. “Just think about it, alright?” he pleads. “Think about it, and I’ll swing by tonight for your answer.”    

Barry yells out a quick goodbye to the others over his shoulder before rocketing out of the bar at top speed.   

 

* * *

 

Barry skids to a stop in the alley behind the crime scene. He waits for the smell of burning rubber to disappear from his shoes before jogging out at a more normal speed to join Joe. He ducks under the crime scene tape after flashing his credentials and meets his foster father inside the small mom and pop store. 

“You sure got here fast,” Joe observes, looking up from his notepad. “Even for you.” 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Barry says with a shrug. 

They aren’t exactly in the nicest part of town, so Joe raises a curious eyebrow. 

“I went to see Snart,” Barry explains reluctantly, anticipating the detective’s disapproval.

“Why?” the Joe asks, just as put-off as Barry expected.  

“I thought maybe he could help,” the speedster replies. “With our sparky friend.” 

Joe frowns. “Snart’s a criminal, Barry,” he says. 

“Technically, yes,” Barry agrees. “But that doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person. He has a code. A respectable one. And anyway, someone has to control the crime in this city. Otherwise, it would all be total chaos. Crime is just like any other system. It needs solid leadership. Better the leader’s on our side, right?” 

“Leonard Snart isn’t on anyone’s side but his own, Barry,” Joe warns. 

“Joe,” Barry says, voice pleading and a little pitiful. “He saved the world.” 

“Leopards can’t change their spots, Barr,” Joe says, position holding firm. 

Barry huffs in frustration. “So you don’t believe in second chances?” he challenges. 

“ _ I believe _ ,” Joe corrects. “That you are one hell of a bleeding heart. And that every time you’ve put your faith in that man, he’s let you down. He betrayed you at Ferris Air. He murdered his father  right in front of you.” 

A bitter lump settles in Barry’s throat. 

“You are my son, Barry,” Joe says softly, eyes warm and kind. “I don’t want to see you hurt again.” 

“Yeah, I get it, Joe,” Barry says, voice scratchy. He shakes his head roughly, trying to clear it. “So what have we got?” 

Joe eyes Barry with concern for a long, silent moment before sighing resignedly and leading him to the dead body in the cereal aisle. 

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, Barry can’t shake Joe’s condemnatory words. They play on repeat in the back of his mind as he runs through DNA samples from the crime scene. When he returns to his apartment after work, he stares blankly into his closet, wondering if he should even bother going to Len’s at all. 

Still, for all of Joe’s warnings, Barry can’t shake the certainty he feels that Len would never betray him. Not anymore. So, he changes into a plaid button-down, slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans and, before he can change his mind, heads out. 

The bar looks different at night. Barry reasons it might have something to do with the sheer number of people inside, some seated at tables, others at the bar, and others still on the dance floor moving to the music. The speedster spots Len behind the bar, scotch flowing from a pour spout into a customer’s glass. He approaches hesitantly and slides between two occupied stools. Len spots him immediately and raises an eyebrow, expectant. 

“Can we talk?” Barry hollers over the noise of chattering patrons and classic rock playing through the speakers. 

Len nods curtly and disappears into the back room. He returns a moment later with Sara, who takes his place tending bar. The older man slips from his post and Barry meets him halfway. 

“It’s kinda loud in here,” Barry remarks, leaning in to be heard. 

A smirk pulls at the corner of Len’s mouth. He reaches out to clasp Barry by the elbow with warm fingers. “Then we’d better get close,” the other man whispers. Barry feels the hot breath against his neck and shivers. 

With a slight tug, Len pulls Barry toward the dance floor. The younger man follows willingly as soon as he pushes past his surprise. As they step out among the other dancers, the sound of heavy power chords gives way to the next song queued up on the bar’s playlist. The lead guitar echoes plaintively as the drums rattle to life. The tempo is slow and measured, pounding in time with Barry’s heart. 

Len’s hands fall to his waist, and Barry’s own immediately wrap around the other man’s shoulders. Barry’s a hair taller, and it should be awkward, but it’s not. Being so close to Len, sharing the warmth of his body and the air from his lungs, has always felt right, even under the most hostile of circumstances. Every point of contact tingles Barry’s skin and a comforting warmth radiates from his belly, spreading through his limbs like hot tea on a cold winter’s night. 

“So,” Barry whispers, voice cracky. “Have you given any thought to my offer?” 

“Didn’t have to,” Len whispers back. 

Barry slumps in disappointment at the apparent rejection, but Len’s hand circles gently to the small of his back and presses down firm. “Of course I’ll help you, Barry,” the older man says. 

“Oh,” Barry replies, tongue-tied and caught off guard. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d want--”  

Len cuts him off. “I want,” he says. 

Barry looks up to meet the other man’s eyes and a shiver rips through his body. Len’s words are full of subtext, his eyes filled with desire, and Barry just wants. Heedless of Joe’s warnings, regardless of the consequences, blind to Len’s past. Barry wants. 

Which, at the moment, comes second to the metahuman trying to destroy the city. 

“Cisco thinks he’s come up with a way to keep her from using her powers,” Barry says, a little on the breathless side. 

“When do you want to do this?” Len asks. 

Barry struggles to keep his train of thought at the vague wording. “Tonight,” he replies. “Before anyone else can get hurt.” 

Len nods. “I’ll meet you at S.T.A.R. Labs in an hour?” he suggests. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Barry agrees. He knows there’s nothing left to say, nothing left to discuss, but he’s reluctant to lose the comforting feeling of Len holding him close. After another few drawn out moments of gentle swaying, however, Barry relents and takes a step back, arms sliding from around Len’s shoulders. 

“I’ll see you,” Barry says, dumb, off balance. 

“Later, Scarlet,” Len replies. His eyes are hypnotic and Barry has to fight with himself to look away. Eventually, though, he does, turning his back on the older man and retreating to the familiar safety of S.T.A.R. Labs. 

 

* * *

 

Len stares dubiously down at the gun Cisco’s handed him. “And this thing’s gonna stop her how, exactly?” he asks, eyebrow raising. 

“I call it the Rubber Glove,” Cisco says excitedly, body practically vibrating. “It releases a blast of specialized rubber polymer that will expand around a surface on contact, acting as an insulator. One hit with this bad boy and Amperage will be stuck in a rubber cocoon until the CCPD can move her to a more specialized cell.” 

“Is that even safe?” Barry asks, wary. His cowl is drawn back, leaving nothing to hide his skeptical expression.  

“I designed it to stop expanding before it closes over any orifices,” the engineer explains. “And the rubber’s got enough give that she’ll be fine breathing. In theory.” 

Lisa’s laughter is loud and carefree. She’s perched on a nearby desk, one leg up, the other dangling over the edge. “Could you sound any less confident?” the brunette teases.

“What is the point of you being here, exactly?” Joe asks gruffly, giving Lisa a pointed glare, arms crossed belligerently over his chest.  

“It’s simple, Detective,” Lisa replies. “I’m here to make sure none of you chronic do-gooders try to pull a fast one on my brother.” 

“Right,” Len scoffs, still examining the Rubber Glove. “It’s not like you’re using it as an excuse to spend time with Ramon or anything.”  

Lisa grins wickedly at Cisco. “Maybe,” she admits. Cisco smiles, timid but genuine, in reply. 

“You know,” Lisa says abruptly, looking back over at Joe. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

“You’re not the only one looking out for their family,” the detective replies. He turns his gaze to Len and scowls. “If you try anything, Snart.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Detective,” Len quickly interjects. “Nothing in it for me.” 

Barry pouts, comically incredulous. “Also, you care about me and don’t want anything bad to happen to me,” the speedster insists, giving the older man a searching look. 

Len shrugs. He tries to remain impassive, but Barry sees the corner of his mouth twitch. “Maybe.” 

Suddenly, a shrill alarm blares through the cortex. 

“Amperage is downtown,” Caitlin says, a note of panic in her voice as she checks the warning on her monitor. “She’s attacking the precinct.” 

Without another word, Barry grabs hold of Len and rushes them to the station. When they come to a stop outside, Len shakes his head brusquely to clear it, eyes pinching.   

“God, that’s almost as bad as time travel,” he mutters, trying to collect his bearings. He passes the Rubber Glove to Barry and unholsters the Cold Gun for himself. 

Amperage stands on the precinct’s steps, bolts of lightning shooting from her hands as passersby run for cover. Their frightened cries boil Barry’s blood. 

“It’s over, Amperage,” the speedster calls, fists clenched. 

The metahuman turns to face the hero and tilts her head pensively. “Amperage,” she repeats, contemplative. “I like it.” 

“What do you say we power down?” Len drawls, Cold Gun raised. “Before somebody blows a fuse.” 

Amperage stares at Len curiously. “Getting in bed with a hero, Cold?” she sneers, voice oozing contempt. “I thought you were a villain.”

Len shrugs. “Personally, I’m a fan of the grey area.” 

“You won’t be much of a fan of anything by the time I’m through with you,” Amperage rebukes. She fires a bolt of lightning at the older man, but Barry’s faster, scooping Len up and moving him from the lightning’s path. 

“Thanks, Scarlet,” Len whispers, their bodies still pressed close. 

Barry smirks. “Any time.” 

Len smirks wickedly back, stealing the breath from Barry’s lungs. Then he ducks around the speedster and fires a shot off at Amperage, still standing assertively on the precinct steps with sparking fingers. 

Barry launches into action on Len’s heels, zipping around the meta at top speed, drawing her fire. A lucky shot catches him in the shoulder and his knees lock, sending him toppling to the ground. The impact is harsh and unforgiving, pain ripping through Barry’s side. He scrambles to get back on his feet, but his limbs are still searing and uncooperative. 

Amperage turns her attention away from Barry and back to the crowd of bystanders. Police officers line the sidewalks, trying to establish a perimeter, but the chaos is making their job nearly impossible, nevermind the fact that the bulk of the force is still trapped inside the station. 

Barry’s stomach turns to lead as he sees a little girl, no older than three or four, slip past the barricades. She’s too curious to be afraid, too young to understand the danger. Amperage notices her at about the same time Barry does.  

“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” the metahuman cackles madly. She shoots bright white arcs of electricity from her fingers, directly at the little girl. The crowd let out horrified shrieks and wails as they look on helplessly. 

Bile rises up in the back of Barry’s throat as he tries and fails to pull himself up. At the last minute, though, a firm arm wraps around the little girl’s waist and Captain Cold pulls her to safety behind a parked squad car. 

“Go,” Len tells her, pushing her toward the perimeter. The little girl runs forward, tears streaming down her face, blonde pigtails bouncing. An officer quickly escorts her behind the barricade and into the arms of her sobbing mother. The woman takes her daughter into her arms and hugs her tightly, then looks up at Len.  

“Thank you, thank you,” she calls out over and over. Len nods tersely, unsure of what else to do. 

“This would be so much more fun if you were on my side, Captain,” Amperage yells. 

“Not gonna happen,” Len yells back. He ducks out from behind the squad car and fires a blast of cold her way. Amperage responds with a blast of her own.  

Finally, Barry manages to get back to his feet. Amperage catches the movement from the corner of her eye and fires at him again, but this time, Barry dodges her attack. The fight continues as such, Captain Cold taking shots at Amperage while The Flash zips around, keeping her distracted. 

“Is this really the extent of your plan to stop me?” Amperage asks, condescending. 

“No,” Barry replies, skidding to a stop in front of the surprised metahuman. “This is.” 

Barry raises the Rubber Glove and fires. 

Unfortunately, nothing happens. 

Both hero and villain stand frozen for a long, drawn out moment, staring at the gun in stunned silence. 

“Cisco,” Barry utters, low and ominous, berating the engineer over the comms. 

Before he can regroup, Amperage raises her hands and floods Barry’s body with wave after wave of agonizing electricity. At such close proximity, the blast sends him rocketing back, Rubber Glove flying from his hand as he spasms uncontrollably. 

“Seems you’re in over your head, Flash,” Amperage laughs, drunk with power. Her assault is relentless, and Barry’s whole body bows off the ground in pain.

Off to his left, Barry sees Len dash from behind the relative safety of the police car to retrieve the Rubber Glove, lying, ignored, on the pavement. The speedster is so fixated on watching the older man, worried about how vulnerable and human he is, fighting a battle much bigger than himself, that he gives the play away. Amperage follows Barry’s gaze and catches Len reaching for the handle of the gun just in time to throw out a hand and hit him in his side where he’s crouched over, defenseless. 

“No,” Barry screams, voice fraught with pain and devastation. He screams so loud and long his throat feels raw as he watches Len’s body crumple to the ground. 

With Cold down, Amperage redoubles her efforts, firing arcs of lightning at Barry with both hands, but Barry can barely feel it. Even as the clenching of his muscles forces his eyes to close, all Barry can feel is Len’s loss like a hole in his chest. 

Barry’s sick with guilt. He let this happen. He was the one who went to Len for help, dragged him into this mess. Because, yes, Barry did need help, but it didn’t have to be from Len. Shouldn’t have been. 

But Barry wanted. Wanted so bad he got Leonard Snart killed. 

“This is the end, Flash,” Amperage triumphantly declares. “I win, you lo--”

The meta’s victory speech abruptly cuts off, as does the lighting shooting into Barry’s body. The speedster pries his eyes open and looks up to see Amperage’s horrified expression as blue goop spreads rapidly from around her abdomen, down her arms and around the tips of her fingers. 

“What’s happening?” she screeches, voice shrill. The goo fuses her legs together, knocking her off balance and sending her toppling to the ground. 

Barry looks past her prone form to see Len clutching the Rubber Glove, face pale and sweaty, body trembling.     

“I win, you lose,” the older man gasps out before the gun drops from his hand, his whole body beginning to convulse.  

“Len,” Barry exclaims, overcome with panic, as he scrambles to his feet. Tears spring to the speedster’s eyes as he’s hit with nauseating waves of pain, but he pushes through. No amount of pain in the world matters, because Len’s alive. He’s alive, but he’s not well, and he needs a doctor. 

“Stay with me, Len,” Barry whispers as he lifts the man into his arms, body still racked with seizures. Then, into his comms, Barry tells Caitlin, “get a bed ready. Snart’s hurt.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t wait for the CCPD to assure him they’ve got the metahuman under control. Instead, he races as fast as his legs will carry him to S.T.A.R. Labs, clutching on to Len’s shaking form. 

When they arrive, Barry quickly places Len down on the hospital bed waiting in the cortex, stepping back so Caitlin can get straight to work. He pulls back his cowl to wipe at his eyes, then runs his fingers frantically through his hair. 

“What happened?” Lisa screeches. She tries rushing to her brother’s bedside but Cisco catches her around the waist, holding her back. 

“Caitlin needs her space,” the engineer says soothingly, rubbing Lisa’s arm with his other hand. 

“What happened, Barry?” Caitlin asks, looking over at the speedster as she pushes Len’s parka open and removes the goggles from his eyes. 

“Amperage hit him,” Barry replies. It feels like a struggle to breathe. “With her lightning. I don’t know how hard.” 

Caitlin nods, signaling that she’s heard him, as she begins cutting Len’s thermal shirt down the middle. His convulsions have stopped, replaced instead by an eerie stillness.  

“What about the metahuman?” Joe asks. When Barry looks over, he sees the detective’s gone pale, eyes wide, staring at Len in disbelief. 

“Len got a shot off,” Barry answers reflexively, as dumb with shock as Joe seems to be. “It’s taken care of.” 

Barry realises after he says it that the wording is vague, open to interpretation, but Joe doesn’t comment. 

“I don’t have a pulse,” Caitlin announces, head shaking. Lisa sobs and Cisco holds onto her tighter. 

Barry feels numb, feels his world spin around him as every outside stimulus fades away until there’s only Len. Len’s body jolting as Caitlin tries to shock him back into rhythm, each time cranking up the charge on the defibrillator. The stillness of Len’s chest between each of the doctor’s attempts to revive him. The ghastly yet magnificent Lichtenberg figures burnt into Len’s left side like deadly snowflakes. 

“Barry, I need your help with CPR,” Caitlin yells out, urgent, but to Barry, it sounds like she’s a million miles away. “Barry!” 

“I’ve got it,” Cisco says, shuffling Lisa over to lean heavily against Joe, then running to Caitlin’s aid. 

It feels like an eternity but, finally, Len draws in a deep, ragged breath and Caitlin slumps in relief, head tilting skyward. 

“Oh, thank God,” the doctor breathes. Then, she turns to the others and offers a small, exhausted smile. “He’s alive.” 

Lisa sinks to her knees, sobbing in relief, one hand still holding onto Joe’s arm as the other shakily rises to cover her mouth. Cisco rushes to her side and crouches down beside her, pulling her into his chest. 

“Is he gonna be alright?” Joe asks. His voice sounds hollow. 

“I’ll have to run some tests,” Caitlin replies. “But I think the worst of it is over.”

“Come on,” Cisco says gently, grabbing Lisa by the elbow and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you some coffee.” 

As the engineer leads Lisa out of the cortex, Caitlin clears her throat and steps back from Len’s bedside. “I’ll go turn on the MRI machine,” she says, then follows the pair out. 

It’s quiet for a long moment as Barry stares, transfixed, at Len, sprawled out on the hospital bed. 

“Barry,” Joe whispers softly, breaking the silence. 

His foster father’s words seem to break Barry out of his trance and he staggers forward, feet dragging heavily across the floor, until he arrives at Len’s side. Then, all his strength leaves him in a rush and he falls to his knees. He buries his head in the mattress and weeps, hands fisting the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

The sound of footsteps shuffle behind him, and Barry feels Joe’s warm hand rest on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Barr,” Joe whispers. 

Barry’s not so sure. 

 

* * *

 

Barry awakens to the sensation of warm fingers carding through his hair. He clears through the fog of sleep and blinks his eye roughly, struggling to gather his bearings. His upper half is draped over Len’s hospital bed, blanket resting around his shoulders. His chair is plush and soft, one of the more comfortable pieces from the staff lounge Joe hauled in when Barry insisted he wasn’t going home. 

“Hey,” Barry croaks, voice rough with sleep, as he cranes his neck up to meet Len’s eyes. The room is dark, save the subtle glow of the monitors to which the other man is attached. Still, Barry can see the softness in his eyes. 

“Hey,” Len says back. 

Slowly, Barry sits up, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He slides his right hand forward to rest atop Len’s. The other man turns his hand over and lets Barry interlock their fingers. 

“It’s okay,” Barry says softly, thumb stroking absently against Len’s skin. “You’re at S.T.A.R. Labs. Do you remember what happened?”  

Len is quiet for a long moment. “I got hit,” he says finally. 

“By lightning,” Barry adds. “Welcome to the club.” 

Len says nothing in reply, so Barry continues. “Caitlin ran a whole bunch of tests,” the speedster says. “None of your bones or internal organs were damaged. Your neurological system seems fine. You were lucky.” 

“Was my sister here?” Len asks. “When you brought me in?” 

Barry tenses a little. “Yeah,” he replies. “She was pretty upset. Cisco took her home, to get some rest.” 

“You should go home, too, Barry,” Len whispers. 

Barry shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, I wanna stay.” 

“Why?” 

The question hits Barry like a blow to the solar plexus, guilt knocking the wind out of his lungs. He just shrugs. 

“This wasn’t your fault, Barry,” Len says softly. Barry keeps his eyes downcast so the older man squeezes his hand, forcing him to look up. “I’m serious.” 

Barry swallows thickly, tears welling up in his eyes. “You got hurt because I went to you for help,” he says, sounding absolutely miserable.  

“I got hurt because I  _ chose  _ to help,” Len corrects, voice firm. “I’m a grown ass man, Scarlet. I make my own decisions. You got that?” 

Barry nods, wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Yeah, I got that,” he repeats, huffing out a small, pathetic laugh. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” the speedster adds. 

Len smiles back at him, fond, but a little sad. “Go home, Barry,” he says. 

Barry shakes his head. He leans into the soft backrest of his chair and curls his feet up underneath himself, all the while keeping their fingers interlocked. 

“I’m fine right here,” Barry replies defiantly. He holds the other man’s gaze, steady and unwavering, until his eyelids become heavy and he drifts back off to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Barry wakes up early the following morning as Len gently shakes his hand. Caitlin stands by the monitors, reading Len’s vitals, but doesn’t comment on their sleeping arrangements. With another round of reassurances from the doctor that Len really will be fine, Barry stands from his chair, rubbing at the tight muscles in his neck, and exits the cortex to wash up in the staff locker room. 

Cisco and Lisa arrive at S.T.A.R. Labs around eight. Lisa sits on her brother’s good side and gently ruffles his hair, much to the other man’s annoyance. 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Lenny,” the brunette says.

“Do that again and I disown you,” Len grumbles, looking over at his sister with a furrowed brow. His eyes show no signs of hostility though, so Lisa only smiles, faux sweet, in reply. 

Lisa spends the next few hours following Cisco around the lab, watching him work, waiting for Caitlin to give the all-clear to take Len home. It’s Barry’s day off at work, so he offers to help the engineer with his new tech. Len’s presence proves to be quite the distraction, however. Barry can feel the other man watching him, even as he makes idle chit chat with Caitlin, seemingly disinterested in anything Barry’s doing. The speedster thinks he’s going to burn up under the heat of Len’s unwavering gaze. 

Over lunch, Iris stops by, morning edition of Central City Picture News in hand. 

“Guess whose article made the front page?” Iris declares proudly, holding the paper out on display. A grainy photo of the previous night’s battle with Amperage sits just below the large print of the headline.  _ Flash and Captain Cold Save CCPD in Unlikely Partnership. _

“Wow, Iris,” Barry exclaims. “That’s amazing!”

From his hospital bed, Len rolls his eyes. “Couldn’t leave my reputation alone, could you?” he sighs. 

“Don’t you have a bit of an unfair advantage?” Lisa interjects, looking pointedly between Iris and Barry. “You’re the sister, right?”     

Iris fold her arms over her chest, defensive. “Iris West.” 

Lisa approaches the reporter and extends a hand. “Lisa Snart,” she replies. 

Hesitantly, Iris takes the other woman’s hand and shakes. 

“Don’t listen to my baby sister,” Len calls, meeting Iris’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s a tantalizing read, much like the rest of your work.” 

Iris wrinkles her brow in confusion. “Um, thanks,” she says. “I think.”  Then, she sighs and turns to Barry. “I have to get back to work. My lunch break’s almost over. I just ran a copy over to Dad and thought you might like one, too.” 

“Thanks, Iris,” Barry says, taking the proffered paper. 

“We’ll be sure to give it a thorough read,” Caitlin adds. 

Iris smiles gratefully before saying her goodbyes heading back to the office.  

Mick, Sara, and Nyssa stop by not long after. Sara steps inside the room first with a shit-eating grin, obviously hiding something behind her back. Mick and Nyssa follow behind her, struggling to keep straight faces, which, for two such stoic people, is another grim sign. 

Len sighs. “What?” he snaps, patience thin.

Sara sniggers as she reveals the little teddy bear, its head wrapped in gauze, one arm in a sling, opposite leg in a cast. She waves it through the air like you would to amuse a small child, and the whole room erupts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“I’m gonna kill every one of you,” the older man threatens, clearly not seeing the humour.  

“I’d like to see you try,” Sara replies, still light and teasing.

“So,” Mick begins, looking over at Caitlin. “When can we take the tough guy home?” 

Caitlin frowns. “Technically, there’s no reason he can’t leave now,” the doctor replies. “But I really wish he’d stay another night, just to be safe.” 

“And I wish I was in the Caribbean somewhere,” Len drawls, sliding out of the hospital bed. He’s already changed into a pair of sweatclothes Lisa brought him that morning, clearly itching to leave. “Sipping mai tais and planning my next great caper. But we can’t always get what we want.” 

“And here I thought you were more of a Swiss Alps kind of person,” Sara jokes. 

Len shrugs and offers her a wicked smile. “I could go either way,” he replies, the innuendo garnering an airy chuckle from the blonde. Then, he turns to Caitlin and nods. “Thanks for the patch up, Doc.” 

Caitlin sighs. “Just promise you’ll come back in if you start feeling anything out of the ordinary,” she pleads. 

Len raises three fingers in a mock salute. “Scots honour,” he says. 

“You were a boy scout?” Cicso asks, skeptical. 

“No,” Len replies. “But a good friend of mine was. Figure that’s close enough.” 

The older man takes a few steps toward the exit but stops and turns back. He looks over at Barry, who’s been uncharacteristically silent, and waits until the heavy silence becomes so demanding the speedster finally meets his eyes. 

“I’ll see you around, Barry,” Len says. His voice is low and gravelly, and it sends a shock of heat through Barry’s body. 

“Yeah,” Barry croaks back in reply, unable to do or say anything more, rooted in place by the weight of his emotions. 

Len holds his gaze until he disappears around the corner, and only then can Barry breathe again. 

 

* * *

 

Joe and Barry sit awkwardly at the dining table, cartons of chinese takeout open between them. They’re alone for dinner, Iris working late at CCPN, and Wally elbow deep in a project for school. Both men seem preoccupied with the previous night’s events, but neither is eager to break the silence. 

“We transferred Amperage to the metahuman wing at Iron Heights this morning,” Joe says finally. 

Barry looks up from his lo mein and nods brusquely. “Good,” he replies, monosyllabic. 

Joe sets down his fork and leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “We should talk,” the detective says. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Barry asks, offhand and dismissive. 

Joe sighs. “I’m not an idiot, Barry,” he replies. “I saw what happened with Snart last night.” 

“You mean the part where he was literally lying dead on a gurney?” Barry snaps, chopsticks gripped tight in his hand. 

“I mean the part where you looked like you’d died right along with him,” Joe replies. 

Barry sighs and deflates in his chair, throwing his chopsticks angrily down to run a hand over his face. “I almost got him killed,” the speedster whispers. 

“No,” Joe says, head shaking. “That wasn’t just guilt, Barry. That was something else. That was grief. The kind of grief you can only feel when you lose someone you really care about.” 

“So what?” Barry spits, venom in his tone. “So I care about Len?” 

Joe raises an eyebrow. “Len?” he repeats. 

Barry just shrugs, head shaking, looking for all intents and purposes lost. 

“Listen to me, Barry,” Joe says softly, trying to catch his foster son’s eyes. “I have  _ never  _ had a problem with your sexuality, you know that. So, I need you to understand that that is  _ not  _ what this is about.” 

Barry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You don’t approve,” he mutters, voice filled with vitriol. “Big surprise there.”

“Barry,” Joe says warningly. 

“No, you know what, Joe?” Barry interrupts. “I’m done defending him to you. Len has done so much to prove that he’s more than the lowlife criminal you think he is. And maybe you had your reasons to be sceptical. You didn’t get to see all the good he did, all the sacrifices he made, when he was travelling through time. So for that one, you get a pass. 

“But I can’t believe,” Barry continues, open palm slamming down onto the table in frustration. “That after what you saw last night, Len literally dying to protect this city - to protect me - that you still can’t see him for the hero he is.”  

Joe sighs deeply. He runs a hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, Barry,” he says. “Maybe I was wrong about Snart as a hero. But I’m not wrong about Snart as a partner. He’s damaged goods.” 

Anger swells up in Barry’s chest at Joe’s words, but almost immediately, it crashes, like a wave, settling in his chest instead as a deep, painful sadness. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I’m damaged goods, too?” Barry whispers, tears springing to his eyes. “That when I was a little kid, I saw my mother dead on the dining room floor, her lifeless eyes staring back up at me. That my father went to jail for her murder. That people thought I was so broken from seeing him kill her that I’d become delusional.” 

Joe wipes at his eyes, fingers trembling from the impassioned speech, but Barry isn’t nearly done. 

“That I have blood on my hands, too, Joe,” he adds in a whisper. “And that it was my choice. I wasn’t just defending myself. I picked those fights. I’m not a cop. I don’t have the right. When I kill someone, it doesn’t matter that I’m protecting the city. It’s still murder. 

“So why can you ignore all of that for me, but not for him?” Barry asks. “Unless you’re just a hypocrite.”  

“No, Barry,” Joe says firmly. “I’m just a  _ father _ . Who wants what’s best for his son. Who sets standards that are probably too high, but that I’m not gonna lower just because you ask nicely. Because I know what you deserve, Barry. And it’s more than that man can offer.” 

Barry scoffs and shakes his head, pushing his chair from the table and coming to a stand. “Maybe it’s more than you can offer, too,” he snaps bitterly. 

“Barry,” Joe exclaims as the speedster begins stalking away. 

“It’s fine, Joe,” Barry replies, shaking his head but still moving forward. “It’s not like anything was ever gonna happen between the two of us anyway. I guess it’s just nice to know where you stand.” 

Joe calls out to Barry again, but the younger man doesn’t listen, instead taking the stairs two at a time, putting as much distance between himself and the detective as the house’s four walls will allow.

 

* * *

 

The red glow of Barry’s alarm clock stares him in the face as he rolls over in bed, the blocky digital numbers reading 2:45 a.m. Barry’s spent the night staring at the ceiling, a knot in chis chest, unable to fall asleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Len get hit. Sees him fall to the ground. Sees him spasm and convulse. Sees the stillness of his unbreathing chest. 

Before Barry can control the impulse, he’s out of bed, changed into a pair of jeans and a CCPD sweatshirt, and run clear across the city to Len’s bar. The sign in the window is turned over to  _ closed _ , but there’s still a faint light on inside. 

Barry tries the handle and the door swings open, bell chiming. He stumbles crossing the threshold as he realizes that, had the lock been turned, he’d have broken in without a second thought. 

“We’re closed,” Len drawls, back turned to the door, stacking chairs on tables. He’s alone, the only light in the open space coming from a fixture above the bar. 

“I thought you’d have realized by now that I don’t care,” Barry replies, voice pitched low, like he’s afraid to disturb the peace of the night. 

Len turns upon hearing the younger man, eyes soft and troubled. “What are you doing here, Barry?” he asks, equally as quiet. 

“I just needed to check up on you,” Barry replies. 

Len’s brow furrows as he glances at his watch. “At a quarter to three in the morning?” 

Barry shrugs. He has no good explanation for his actions. He was worried so he came running. Any sane person would have turned back halfway to the car, the idea becoming progressively dumber the longer they sat with it. But Barry’s speed doesn’t allow him that luxury, for better or for worse. 

“Look,” Len says, throat clearing. “What happened the other night was pretty intense. Maybe things need to cool down between us.” 

“Yeah,” Barry croaks, voice thick with emotion. “Maybe that would be for the best.” 

When Len looks up at him, Barry feels his whole body come alive. “Goodbye, Barry,” the older man whispers, and Barry knows he should leave, should turn around and walk away. 

But that’s not what he does. 

In three long strides, Barry crosses the floor. In elegant harmony, just as Barry’s hand clasps around the back of Len’s neck, the older man grips onto his hips with demanding fingers and pulls their bodies flush together. Their lips meet with equal fervor and Barry feels himself melt under Len’s skillful touch. Tongues tangle messily, eager to explore, to consume, to embrace. Nothing in Barry’s life has ever felt so right. 

Suddenly, Len’s pulling back, head shaking. “Wait, Barry,” he pants, voice sounding absolutely wrecked. “Whatever this is between us, it’s never gonna work.” 

“The hell it won’t,” Barry replies challengingly. Both of his hands are still clenched firmly around the back of Len’s neck. “I want this. Do you?” 

A small whine escapes the older man’s throat and he shakes his head again, fighting tooth and nail against giving Barry an honest answer. 

“Len,” Barry pleads, desperate, breath puffing hot against his lips. 

“Yes,” Len whispers finally. “Yes, Barry. I want this.” 

“Then do what you do best,” Barry says. “Take it.” 

A pathetically frantic noise pushes out of Len’s mouth, Barry’s words like a physical punch to the gut. He surges forward and captures the speedster’s lips, kissing him hard and deep. Len walks the younger man backward until his waist bumps into the corner of the bar. He reaches a hand around to grasp the back of Barry’s thigh, and the intention behind the motion is clear. Barry braces his hands on the bartop and pushes himself up, legs splayed wide to let Len stand between them. 

They continue their frantic kissing uninterrupted for almost a full minute, all heat and passion. When Barry’s hand falls to the other man’s waist, looking to haul him closer still, Len winces and pulls back, sucking in a pained breath. 

“Shit,” Barry exclaims, the memory of Len’s injury coming back to him all at once. “I’m so sorry.” 

Len shrugs as he draws in another deep breath. “It’s fine, Scarlet.” 

“I’m sorry,” Barry says again, wrapping a tender hand around Len’s neck and dragging him in for another kiss, this one slow and gentle, full of caring and concern. 

When they part, Len looks up at him with wide, adoring eyes, and Barry’s heart clenches in his chest. He’d come so close to losing this, before he’d even had it. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Barry asks, voice barely a whisper, as he threads their fingers together. “Not for sex, I mean. Just to be with you. I need to know that you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Len agrees, nodding. He gives Barry another quick kiss before stepping back, allowing him the space to slide off the bar. 

Barry doesn’t let them stay apart long, quickly tucking himself around Len’s good side, head burying into his shoulder, hands clasping tight. 

“Hey, Barry,” Len says softly, clearing his throat. The man looks uncomfortable when Barry looks up at him. 

“Yeah?” the speedster replies. 

“I do care about you,” he says. 

Barry smiles. “I care about you, too.” 

Len leans over and presses their lips together. “You wanna get out of here?” the older man asks.

Barry looks around the empty room, half the chairs still unstacked. “Don’t you have to clean up the mess?” he wonders. 

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” Len replies, smiling softly at the younger man, like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.  

Yeah, Barry thinks. Nothing that can’t wait.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/).


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